


Out of the Shadows, Into the Light

by Barbed



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, Haunting, Love Triangles, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:33:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8887540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbed/pseuds/Barbed
Summary: Edith wanted to love the house and the sister as she did her husband, but neither of them invited intimacy. Neither of them welcomed warmth. Both of them suffered her presence, and both seemed equally unwilling to tolerate even an unintended transgression.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tibby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tibby/gifts).



_Edith_

When Sir Thomas Sharpe offered Edith his hand for the waltz, she almost refused. It wasn’t that she objected to dancing or found him to be a disagreeable partner. Quite the contrary, in fact. But over the years, she’d grown accustomed to skirting the fringes of social gatherings rather than claiming the attention of all assembled. That knack had served her and her fiction well. Most people didn’t realize how much they gave away when a keen eye was turned on them.

It was that same keen eye that caught the McMichael ladies’ indignation at an interloper capturing the attention the guest of honor. The glimmer of satisfaction she felt at their chagrin combined with Thomas’s challenge to keep the candle he held burning throughout the dance warmed her smile as she slid her hand into his.

As Thomas took her in his arms and the music started, Edith kept her gaze locked with his, lest she allow the scrutiny of the crowd to distract her. He was, to her delight, an accomplished partner, and she wondered if dancing for him was like working on his machine: something he threw all his passion into perfecting. Her step almost faltered as she realized that passion was currently focused entirely on her. 

Edith was aware of every point where their bodies touched, and when the music stopped and Thomas released her so that only their hands touched, curled around the still-burning candle, she resented the silence the music left in its wake, the silence that had always been her comfort and her friend. She and Thomas smiled at each other over the flame, and even after Edith blew it out, she felt the warm glow it had kindled burning inside her.

_Thomas_

When Thomas offered Edith Cushing his hand for the waltz, he saw that she almost refused. As her hand hesitated in the air between them, Thomas wondered if she hated to dance as much as he’d come to. He wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable having the eyes of others on him, but in Milan, he lost the taste for it. It became a physical necessity, like eating and breathing. Something that must be done rather than something one could take pleasure in. 

Truth be told, Thomas was tired of his sister pointing him toward women with more money than prospects. Women who would be grateful for his attention. Women who wouldn’t be missed once he’d wooed them away to Allerdale Hall and to their doom. He had an obligation to his family, as Lucille was always quick to remind him, and the quicker he discharged it, the happier they’d both be. 

Thomas was never sure if it was restlessness or resentment that made him pass over the short list of ladies Lucille had marked for him in favor of Carter Cushing’s golden daughter. Never before had he wanted something for himself, and he could tell how displeased Lucille was in his choice of partner when he caught glances of her, rigid and cold as marble, during the dance. If there was one thing his sister loathed, it was not being in control, and Thomas suspected she was crafting a list of petty cruelties she could inflict on him once she had the opportunity.

Whatever the cost, Thomas would pay it and gladly to bask in the honest delight and fierce determination he saw on Edith’s face. She was a dreamer, a creator, and that part of her called to him, forged a connection he’d never had with Lucille. When the dance ended and their eyes met over the flame, Edith flashed him a smile he couldn’t help but return. Even after she blew the candle out, he felt the warm glow it had kindled burning inside him.

_Edith_

Edith wasn’t sure she would ever call Allerdale Hall home. Despite the antique elegance that still clung stubbornly to those rooms that hadn’t succumbed to decay and disuse, little about the house invited warmth or welcome. All the furniture and furnishings spoke of grim, stiff-backed resolve rather than comfort. Long empty hallways hid their secrets and lead only to locked or broken rooms. To walk the shadowed halls meant crossing over creaking floors and skirting the cracks and holes that let the elements work their will inside.

Though Edith wanted very much to call Lucille “sister,” the word fit her as comfortably as “home” did the hall. Like the brooding structure, Lucille always seemed to glide on the perilous edge between cool civility and chaos. Her dark beauty had edges sharp enough to draw blood. Her smile held the warmth of a tombstone, the rustling of her stiff skirts, the susurration of the hollowed out husks of beetles.

Edith wanted to love the house and the sister as she did her husband, but neither of them invited intimacy. Neither of them welcomed warmth. Both of them suffered her presence, and both seemed equally unwilling to tolerate even an unintended transgression. Edith hoped she was wrong, hoped they all could come to an accord, but she didn’t think they ever would.

_Thomas_

All his life, Thomas called Allerdale Hall his home, and when he was a child, it even felt like one. He had parents and tutors. He had servants. His family had a stable with sleek horses, a pantry that brimmed with food, and a wine cellar his father insisted was envy of their neighbors. What young Thomas loved most about his home was the fact there was always something new to discover. An antique locket tucked away in the attic, sea glass and a sextant his father brought back from his travels, a mother-of-pearl inlaid mirror he found wedged between two philosophy books in the library.

Of course, home also meant hiding under his blankets in the nursery at night when the shouting started, when his parents struck with more than words, when his sister sobbed herself to sleep. Home meant finding small, dark places far from the nursery, places where a boy could disappear if he needed to. Comfort and cruelty in equal measure was what he knew of home and family.

Thomas wanted Lucille to love Edith as he did. Like the clay extractor, he believed if he worked on the problem devoutly enough, he’d find a way to make it work, to bring peace between the women. But then he’d see his sister’s smile each time she mixed Edith’s poisoned tea, the light in her eyes every time she heard Edith’s cough, wet with blood. Maybe there were some things he was powerless to fix. Thomas hoped he was wrong, hoped they all could come to an accord, but he didn’t think they ever would.

_Edith_

Edith bent over Lucille’s body, trying to avoid the sightless eyes that never blinked away the snow falling onto them and melting across their fading warmth. Her fingers closed around Lucille’s wrist, holding it while she stared at the ring that glinted darkly on the dead hand. The ring had been bought and paid for many times over in blood, and Edith was tempted to leave it to the woman who craved it with an obsession that drove her to ruin.

As much as Edith wanted to leave the ring behind, she couldn’t abide letting Lucille cling to the comfort she died and would be interred as Lady Sharpe. Lucille had stolen that from her mother and from Thomas’s other wives, even as she had stolen the locks of their hair she kept as trophies and their lives. _No more._ Edith tugged at the ring until it came free.

The stone seemed to glow redly against her skin, and Edith curled her hand around it. She closed her eyes, remembering the exhilaration of her first waltz with Thomas, the bittersweet joy when he slipped the ring on her finger, the delight at the toys he’d crafted in his workshop, the pleasure of the night they’d spent in the spare room at the post office. _No darkness. No hatred. No death._ After banishing all dark thoughts, Edith slid the ring back on her finger.

Using the shovel as a crutch, Edith limped back to the hall. The ghosts of Allerdale Hall swarmed around her as she stumbled into the foyer. They were still bloody and monstrous, their clawed hands still grasped for her, but Edith no longer feared them. They rubbed against her, their wails silenced, and she wept as she watched them grow thinner and thinner, stretching and dissolving into the wind. She hoped they would finally find their peace. 

Edith had no idea how long she stood there until Alan found her. When he offered her his support, she almost refused. It frightened her, acknowledging she could need someone else’s help, but finally, she did lean into him as he curled his arms around her as much for comfort as for support. They helped keep each other upright as they stumbled out of the house. One slow, careful step at a time. 

Out of the shadows and into the light.

_Thomas_

Edith bent over Lucille’s body. Thomas saw her take Lucille’s hand and pull the Sharpe family ring from his sister’s finger. He also saw Lucille’s ghost rise like a shadow from her body, turn her back on Edith and on him, and glide back to the house. Edith had claimed her ring, her life, her power. The only soul Lucille would be able to harm now was her own. 

Thomas seized his chance to be free of Lucille and Allerdale Hall as he rose above the storm, above the clouds, to a place where the sunlight was warm and golden. Like Edith. _Like her love._ All his life, he had tried to build things, to fix them. He might have tinkered with toys, but he’d never had the knack of mending people. Not Lucille. Certainly not himself. That he was able to help Edith survive and spare McMichael’s life were, he supposed, small miracles.

A sharp tug pulled Thomas earthward, and as he fell, a surge of terror filled him at the thought of being trapped with his mad sister for all eternity. He clawed desperately at the air, trying futilely to drag himself skyward. The pull was too strong to fight, and he found himself drawn into the shadows of the foyer. His sister was nowhere to be seen, but Edith stood waiting as McMichael staggered toward her. His attention focused on the ring glimmering on her finger, and he knew that where the ring went, he would be bound to follow.

Alan and Edith curled their arms around each other, each leaning heavily against the other as they staggered out of the house. Quiet as the snow, Thomas followed, keeping some distance between him and them. He hoped time would mend the wounds he and Lucille had inflected on Edith and Alan, hoped they would find the happiness and healing they both deserved together. If he was very fortunate, he might find it with them. One slow, careful step at a time. 

Out of the shadows and into the light.


End file.
